In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2)

by Michelle Beattie

  Yet it was she who stepped away first.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath. “We give them a proper sailor’s burial.”

  It was a solemn task, but one taken seriously amongst the crew. First and foremost, these were good men and they deserved to be honored. Unfortunately, with Roche likely not too far behind them, they needed to act quickly. They had privacy and safety at the moment; there wouldn’t be a more opportune time.

  Fetching spare canvas, and praying they wouldn’t need it for repairs should they be lucky enough to beat Roche, Aidan took it to the main deck. He enlisted his men—and Sarah, who insisted—to sew the shrouds they would wrap the bodies in. Gathered on deck they worked, the only sound that of rustling canvas as it was moved and shifted. Cramped fingers were stretched and poked but the work didn’t stop.

  While the sewers were at their task, Aidan went below to sort through each man’s belongings, choosing their best “going ashore” clothes to be buried in. He hadn’t known the other two as long as he’d known Jacques yet he took the same care with their clothes. One of the first things he’d learned when Samantha was Steele was that every man counted, every man deserved respect. Perhaps that was why they’d been so loyal to her, never questioning her position despite her age and gender.

  He’d thought he was doing the same yet, clearly, he hadn’t been or there wouldn’t have been a mutiny. Three men wouldn’t be dead. Alone by the single flickering candlestick, the responsibility sat heavy in his heart. Had he been so blinded by his need for revenge that he hadn’t taken the time to earn his mens’ trust? Had he simply expected it? Had he, even unwillingly, made them feel less important than they were?

  Aidan bowed his head. Samantha, he remembered, had suffered with each man that had been lost under her command. He’d watched her mourn and cry, witnessed her despair. And within a fortnight of taking over as Steele, he knew exactly how she’d felt.

  Bloody awful.

  Well, he’d always known life as Steele wouldn’t be easy. This was a difficult moment and he didn’t have to bloody like it, but Steele never turned from adversity. He’d seen the fortitude in Samantha, Nate, and Cale and, by everything that was in him, vowed he’d do no less.

  Taking the clothes in one hand and the candlestick with the other, Aidan went to dress the dead.

  It was a somber group that gathered later at the gunwale. The bodies had been dressed, wrapped in canvas, and weighed down with irons and chains. After, they would be lifted one by one onto a plank and tipped feet first into the sea. For now, they lay side by side on deck where their crewmen and Sarah formed a semi-circle around them.

  As captain, it fell to Aidan to offer a small service.

  “We lost three good men today; Jacques, Harry, and George. They died honorably protecting the ship and their fellow crewman, being true to me as captain. I consider myself fortunate to have known and worked alongside them. May God have mercy on their souls.”

  As Aidan and Chunk lifted Jacques’ body onto a board, a sweet melody filled the silence. Surprised, Aidan and the others turned to Sarah.

  She immediately stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said, clasping her hands together. “It seemed fitting, but it’s not my place.”

  “They would have liked it,” Lucky offered. “Don’t stop on our account.”

  She shifted her gaze to Aidan, silently asking his permission. He swore he felt his heart turn over. These men, under his authority, had forced their way into her home, turned her life upside down. Hell, they didn’t even like her, though he suspected the tide was changing on that. Yet she’d been nothing but kind to them in return. Even now, after tending the dying and wounded, after hours of sewing, she wanted to send the dead to their grave accompanied by a song.

  He would have laughed but nothing about the situation was humorous. Three men had died, more hurt.

  And, hell, if he hadn’t just realized he’d fallen in love after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roche hadn’t believed him. Why would he? He was naught but a beggar who’d wavered to his table claiming he had news from Sam Steele. But Roche knew Steele was without a ship and even if he’d acquired another so soon, Steele would have no way of knowing where he was. Besides, if Steele were here, why not use the element of surprise and shoot him in the head? Why a message?

  Annoyed to have his drinking interrupted, Roche drew his pistol. “If you enjoy your head where it is, go back where you came from.”

  The man threw up his hands. “I’m going, I’m going.” He backed away, banging into several tables in his haste. “Don’t matter to me if yer daughter’s been taken,” he grumbled.

  Shoving the pistol into his belt, Roche lurched to his feet, shoved aside any man who stood in his way and grabbed the vagrant by the collar. Nobody, save his immediate crew and those tending Sarah, knew of her. Despite his healing right arm and throbbing leg, Roche hauled the man up onto his toes. Sour breath fell in hot puffs onto Roche’s face but he didn’t let go. As a rule, he never forgot a face and this one wasn’t familiar. He dropped him to his feet but kept hold of the man’s shirt. Then, shouting for everyone to get the bloody hell out of his way, dragged the man outside.

  Clouds had rolled in, darkening the sky but the torches brightening Doubloons’ doorway showed the man’s pallor.

  “I ain’t lying!”

  “Who told you?”

  “I don’t-I don’t know!” he yelled when Roche shook him. “Some man paid me to tell you they have your daughter.”

  “Who has her?”

  *

  Peter pulled the branches closer around him. “Steele has her,” he called.

  Roche whipped his gaze around, glared into the dark. Even though Peter knew he couldn’t be seen, he sank deeper into the trees. The beggar, having been warned, fled into the night.

  “I have no daughter,” Roche said, bluffing.

  “Her name is Sarah and she lives in a fortress in San Salvador. Steele seems to have taken a real liking to her.”

  Peter could see the rage boiled hot on Roche’s face.

  “How do you know any of this?”

  “I was part of the crew that took her, her and the Revenge.”

  Roche’s chest heaved, his hands curled into fists. “If you were part of the crew why aren’t you with them now? Why are you hiding in the bushes? You want me to believe you, show your face.”

  Peter laughed. “Not a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t concern myself with who I am, I’d be focusing on my daughter, the Revenge, and the fact that both of them were here tonight.”

  “Here?” Roche bellowed. “If Steele had been here, he’d have shot me. Why didn’t he?”

  Noticing Roche was slowly inching his way closer to the trees, Peter moved to the left. “He wanted to know how many ships you were gathering. He didn’t expect you to learn about Sarah until he was ready for you. But if you leave soon, I’d say you’d catch him before he makes it to Nevis. Oh, and there’s been a mutiny aboard so he’s down men.”

  Roche squinted as he tried to catch a glimpse of the man he was talking to. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because Steele is a fool. You killed my best friend and Steele was supposed to make it right.”

  Roche held his arms wide, though he continued to move closer. “Then shoot me if I killed your friend. Why send me after Steele instead?”

  Because, like Roche, Steele needed to die.

  If only Aidan had kept to his original plan, kept his focus on Roche. But he was too soft, too young to be in command and when he’d started taking Sarah’s side over that of his crew’s, Peter had known it was time to act. He’d gotten Clarence and half a dozen others and together they’d waited for Aidan to go ashore. It still infuriated him that the captain had sensed something and taken Sarah with him. Peter had hoped to kill her.

  From there, nothing had gone in his favor. Chunk, Lucky, and Jacques were more loyal to Aidan than he’
d realized and the delay in seeing it had nearly cost Peter his life. It had, however, cost Clarence’s.

  When Peter had been stabbed, thrown over the gunwale, he’d nearly landed on his friend’s floating, lifeless body.

  Lightheaded and weakening, holding onto his anger for strength, Peter had struggled to shore. Once his hands and knees were on the sand, he’d lost consciousness. He had no way of knowing how long he’d lain there but when he’d come to his only thought had been to seek his own revenge. More than one good friend was dead and someone, by God, was going to pay.

  He’d wrapped his wounded shoulder then used the beggar to draw Roche out into the street. But to just shoot him now? Where would the satisfaction be in that?

  Peter grinned. “Why send you after Steele? Because you deserve each other.”

  Then, having said what he’d set out to say and feeling weak from his injuries, Peter decided it was time to slip away.

  Just as he was moving further in the jungle, Roche’s men stepped out of Doubloons. “There you are Cap—”

  Roche didn’t waste time. He pointed in Peter’s direction. “Get the man in there, he knows of Sarah.”

  Peter’s heart leapt to his throat. No, no, no, he chanted as he thrashed his way through the trees, as he heard Roche’s men close in on him. His shoulder burned, his head was light and he knew, even as kept running, it wouldn’t matter. And then he heard the shot, felt the pain.

  Then falling, he felt nothing more.

  *

  Roche heard the shot but gained no satisfaction. They’d ruined her. The one tie to his precious Evangeline and they’d ruined it. He wouldn’t be able to look upon Sarah again and see his perfect Evangeline. He’d only see Steele’s whore.

  Roche’s rage knew no bounds. When the tavern door opened and a drunkard stumbled out, Roche didn’t see an aging, stooped old man. He saw Steele. Pulling his pistol he aimed and shot the man in the head. Before the body hit the ground Roche had drawn his cutlass. Stalking over to him he hacked until he was out of breath and covered in blood. Only then did he stop, wipe his bloodied sleeve across his foaming mouth, and assess what he’d done.

  He’d made a bloody mess.

  Well, he thought as he sheathed his cutlass and walked back into Doubloons, it was nothing compared to what he intended to do once he got hold of Steele.

  *

  Aidan checked his compass. Again. He peered through the looking glass, seeing nothing but the same darkness he’d seen the last time he’d checked. Which hadn’t been more than minutes ago. He rubbed his brow. There was nothing else to be done. Their heading was true; anything that could be lost had been thrown overboard to increase their speed. He doubted Roche had a sloop although some in his armada might. However he knew Roche, and the man would want the lead therefore even faster ships would be made to stay behind him. Given they’d left sooner and the Revenge was quicker, all they could do now was sail and hope they reached Nevis before Roche caught them.

  He tapped the wheel. Tilting his head side to side, he stretched his neck.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  Things were too quiet. He’d ordered the crew to get some rest while they could and the rumbling snores from those who slept on deck weren’t loud enough to distract him.

  Maybe it was time he stopped looking for distractions, stopped running from the truth.

  Wasn’t that a hell of a realization in the middle of the night?

  Aidan shook his head, long locks brushed across his cheeks. He’d removed the bandana prior to the burial as a sign of respect and hadn’t been able to resist looking at Sarah when he had. She’d looked down the moment their eyes met, and Aidan knew the sadness on her face wasn’t all due to the dead. He’d had a hand in it as well.

  He curled a hand around the back of his neck, blew out a troubled breath. Why now? Why, when he finally had the Revenge and the chance to be Steele, did he have to fall in love? Why couldn’t he have met her in five or ten years’ time? After he’d had a chance to live his dream? He’d gladly make a life with her then. It wasn’t as though he was against love and marriage. Hell, he’d grown seeing the joy marriage brought. He wasn’t scared of it; he just wasn’t ready yet. Unfortunately, he knew when the time came, Sarah would be long gone.

  Why, he cursed, couldn’t they have come to him at different times, when he wouldn’t have to choose between one part of his heart or the other?

  It had been different for the others. Samantha had never enjoyed piracy and had only been looking for revenge. Nate had only ever done it to save Samantha, and he’d already been thinking of giving it up when he’d found Claire again. Cale had done it for Vincent but Aidan had always known the man’s heart wasn’t in it.

  Now he knew why.

  Aidan’s hand fell to his side. If this was a moment of reckoning he might as well face this as well.

  Aidan had always known something haunted Cale. The man wasn’t one to get drunk, but a few times a year he drank to excess. They’d learned the pattern but never why. Aidan had suspected it had to do with a lost love, but he’d never dreamed the lost love had been his own mother.

  When he’d first recognized Roche and remembered his past, he’d been devastated. All the anger and hurt he’d felt as a young boy had resurfaced, threatened to drown him. He’d refused to listen, refused to talk to Cale. Every time Cale had come near him, he’d found an excuse to be elsewhere. He hadn’t been able to look at the man who hadn’t recognized his own son, who, despite Aidan’s wishing and praying, had never come for him.

  He rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. It hadn’t happened in years but the resurfaced memories were fresh. So was the pain.

  Yet he knew he wasn’t the only one hurting. There was no denying how Cale had felt when he’d learned his son was alive. In the years Aidan had sailed with him, he’d rarely seen Cale smile and when he did, it didn’t usually reach his eyes. Yet upon hearing the news, his face had shone brighter than a torch. Tears had filled his normally serious eyes. He’d been thrilled. And Aidan had turned him away.

  He wasn’t proud of the fact but he wasn’t sure he could have done things differently. He’d been reeling and he’d needed space and time. Well, now he’d had both and it was time to look upon the situation calmly, rationally.

  Perhaps Sarah was right. Maybe Cale was as much a victim as Aidan was. After all, he’d had no way of knowing Aidan was alive. Roche’s attack had left their home ravaged and, from what Aidan remembered, there’d been a lot of blood left behind. Added to that, it had been eleven years from the time Aidan had been taken to the day he started sailing with Cale. Perhaps it was unfair to think he should have been recognized. Certainly, he hadn’t looked the same at sixteen as he had at five. Hell, he even had a different name.

  And if blame needed to be laid, then an equal amount needed to be placed at his own feet. After all, how could he resent Cale for not recognizing his son when Aidan hadn’t recognized his father?

  Besides, for all he knew, Cale had searched for him. How was he to know when he hadn’t given the man a chance to explain?

  He’d have to, he knew. They needed to talk of what had happened. Cale deserved to know what became of his wife and son and Aidan needed to hear what Cale had done when he’d come home and found his family gone.

  After that?

  “Hell if I know,” he muttered.

  *

  Aidan’s head bobbed, waking him. He scrubbed his hands over his face, tried to blink the grittiness from his eyes. He stomped his feet, flexed his fingers over the wheel. He couldn’t keep this up much longer and much as he hated to wake Chunk or Lucky, he’d need to. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep and veer off course. Besides, like his crew, he too needed to be ready for what the morning would bring. Still, he figured he could manage a bit longer.

  He shrugged out of his coat, figuring if his body were cooler it would help keep him awake. He hoped. He was tossing it aside when Chunk stepped through the main hatc
h.

  Thank God.

  Chunk lumbered up the steps to the quarterdeck. “I was awake, thought you might be ready for a break.”

  “Thanks. I was thinking the same thing, but was going to give you a few more minutes. You went through more tonight than I did.” He couldn’t see much of Chunk’s bruises in the shadows but knew they were there.

  Chunk waved aside the concern. “I’ve had worse. We all have. Go on now, I’ve got her.”

  Aidan gladly stepped back, relinquished the helm. “I won’t be too long.”

  “Take your time, Cap’n. I’ve had my rest.”

  “I’ll be in my cabin if you need me.”

  Everyone aboard knew Sarah was in Aidan’s cabin. While it certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’d be in there together every other time had been during the day. But it was the middle of the night and Sarah would clearly be asleep. If Aidan were going down there now, it was clear he intended to share the bed.

  He held Chunk’s stare, waited for his first mate to speak, to tease again, as it was clear the man had something on his mind.

  “She surprised a lot of people today, and I’d be at the top of that list.” Chunk cleared his throat. “Billy said she took real good care of Jacques.”

  Aidan had no idea where Chunk was headed with his comment, but he certainly couldn’t deny the man’s words. She’d taken exceptional care with Jacques.

  “In fact, she took great care with everyone.”

  “Everyone?” Aidan frowned.

  “After the burials, when she went down to help Slim with the meal?”

  “Yes?” She’d volunteered, amazing him again with her generosity. He’d known she was exhausted but she wouldn’t rest until the others could as well.

  “Well, she wouldn’t let any of us have our supper until she’d cleaned and tended our cuts, ensured, she said, that nobody else would die.”